


Disciplinary Action

by Eridani_Dreams



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Emotionally Repressed Men Drinking And Talking, Lie back and think of Australia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Exchange, Sex Pollen, StupidSexyJensen, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridani_Dreams/pseuds/Eridani_Dreams
Summary: It was ten in the morning and Jim already had a headache. He deeply regretted being unable to hand off the Organized Crime desk to someone–anyone–else. Especially if this was the sort of thing that crossed their desk on a regular basis. In this case, a major money-laundering operation taking place under the guise of an adult film studio.Jensen stared at him for a long moment. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” He fumbled the last cigarette out of its pack with the look of a man who wished it was an entire bottle of scotch. He took a long, considering drag–the wind tore the smoke of his exhalation to shreds–and growled, “Do I look like a porn star?”prompt: undercover in an aug porn studio





	Disciplinary Action

It was ten in the morning and Jim already had a headache. He deeply regretted being unable to hand off the Organized Crime desk to someone—anyone—else. Especially if this was the sort of thing that crossed their desk on a regular basis. In this case, a major money-laundering operation taking place under the guise of an adult film studio.

Which is why he had chosen to hold the briefing in the small, deserted courtyard near the TF29 office, well away from prying ears. God! If MacReady ever got wind of _this_ one, he'd never let Jensen live it down.

Jensen stared at him for a long moment. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." He fumbled the last cigarette out of its pack with the look of a man who wished it was an entire bottle of scotch. He took a long, considering drag—the wind tore the smoke of his exhalation to shreds—and growled, "Do I _look_ like a porn star?"

There was no good answer to that. Especially not considering some of the thoughts Jim had entertained in the long, dark nights after London. Which were _totally_ unprofessional, and he was _not_ thinking about them, especially here and now and in this context. Just...no.

Jensen was giving him an odd look— _fuck_ , Jim devoutly hoped he didn't have the damned CASIE running, and scrambled to answer like the mature, responsible task force director he was. "It's not a question of looks. We only have two augmented agents, and your police background makes you a better choice than Argento."

Jensen let out a long sigh. " _Fuck_."

Jim couldn't fault him for it, but still—“Chang can’t crack their security without being detected, and if they get a whiff of intrusion, physical or otherwise, they’ll vanish overnight.”

Jensen nodded. “Follow the money, I get it. And since they’re the weak link, and justifiably paranoid about it, we go in the one way they won’t expect: the front door.”

Jim was pleased to see that Jensen had come to the same conclusion he had. “We crack them open, we could save a lot of lives, Jensen.”

Jensen took a last drag on the cigarette, exhaled mightily, then pinched the end between carbon fingertips and dropped the filter in a nearby trash can. “I get it,” he repeated. “Don’t like it, but the job’s the job.” He headed for the door to the courtyard, his entire body a study in resignation. He glanced over his shoulder. "Guess I’ll just have to lie back and think of Australia."

Jim didn’t have time to come up with a suitable comeback before Jensen was gone.

**ΔX**

They met at a metro station in the suburbs, a mere two blocks from their target. Jim had changed into a suit that had been fashionable three years ago and was now slightly shabby. Jensen had been instructed to lose the trenchcoat and fatigue pants, and was looking devastatingly attractive in a soft green jumper over faded jeans. Jim couldn’t help but notice the way it emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the trimness of his hips. And then he couldn’t help but hope that Jensen hadn’t caught him blatantly checking him out. He firmly reminded himself that Jensen was his _subordinate_ , and a decade younger to boot—himself remained unabashed.

Jensen raised an eyebrow as Jim approached. “Do I pass inspection?” Much to Jim’s relief, he sounded mostly...amused.

“You’ll do,” Jim replied. “Just...drop the shades.” Jensen stared at him. Jim added, a little impatiently, “We’re not going in to intimidate them.”

Jensen blew out an exasperated sigh, and the shades retracted. Jim could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Jensen’s eyes (including the first time, while the Orchid was ravaging his body), and he still wasn’t used to them. (Though he wanted to be.) He definitely wasn’t prepared for the way the jumper intensified the color. Without the shades, out of his usual gear, he looked almost...shy. It was a side of Jensen he’d never seen, and one that he found strongly appealing. _Your subordinate,_ he reminded himself again. The way this was going, he was going to need a _lot_ of reminding.

Jensen was still looking at him; Jim gave himself a mental shake. “Right. One down-on-his-luck businessman looking for a way to profit off his augmented assistant.” It was an uncomfortably plausible cover; people dependent on Neuropozyne could be coerced to do a lot of things to keep it from being taken away. He’d seen the resentment—no, be honest, the _hatred_ —that engendered first-hand, among the desperate masses in Utulek. He couldn’t save the world, didn’t have the resources to even try, but he could take care of his people. He brought his eyes up to Jensen’s. “Adam…” he pitched his voice for only Jensen’s ears, “tell me if you think you can’t handle this. Because if you can’t, we’ll find another way.”

Jensen’s eyes softened, but there was no hesitation in his answer. “If there were another way, I’d have suggested it earlier. This is the play we’ve got; I can deal with it. It won’t be the worst thing I’ve ever been asked to do.”

Jim nodded. “All right. If we’re lucky, we get in, get a good look around, drop the taps so Chang can work his magic, and then I ‘get cold feet’ and we leave.”

Jensen’s look turned cordially skeptical. “Yeah. Because we’re usually that lucky.”

**ΔX**

For the first hour, Jim could have been forgiven for thinking that, for once, they’d gotten that lucky. The so-called ‘casting director’—”Call me Andrea,” she said— took one look at Jensen and fell all over herself escorting them past the receptionist’s desk. (Nor had Jim had any difficulty reading the look Jensen shot him behind her back. _Do I look like a porn star?_ he’d asked; apparently, _someone_ thought the answer was ‘yes’.)

Andrea led them through a warren of offices to what she cheerfully referred to as “the green room”. (Far from being green, it was the same industrial beige as the rest of the surroundings.) “We’re clearing the set from this morning’s shoot,” she explained, “so it’ll just be a bit before we’re ready for Mr. Walther’s audition. Please stay put; we’re moving equipment around and our workman’s comp wouldn’t cover you if you got hurt!” Her trill of laughter grated on Jim’s ears. “Oh”—and she gave Jim the same sort of look she’d given Jensen earlier—”Mr. Michaels, if you wanted to audition with Mr. Walther, I think that could be arranged. We have a number of customers that would _love_ the transgressive element of pairing a nat with an aug, and you do set each other off _beautifully_ , I _must_ say.” She patted him on the cheek. “Think about it. I’ll be back!”

Jim hadn’t blushed in years. He’d thought he’d forgotten how; today, he was remembering with a vengeance. The quiet snort of Jensen’s suppressed laughter behind him helped only in that he was able to use the brief moment of irritation to clamp down on his _ohgodyes_ reaction to the idea of ‘transgressing’ with Adam. _Jensen, dammit. Agent Jensen_ , he reminded himself, yet again. It was a terrifyingly seductive idea: no one could blame him for doing what the job required, could they? But he could, and Jensen could, and he wasn’t willing to ruin what had finally become a good, solid working relationship over a goddamned crush. He was better than that, and Jensen deserved better.

“You know, boss,” Jensen said, augmented eyes bright with mirth, “if you don’t think you can handle it—” Underneath the amusement was a note of genuine concern—Jensen trying to offer him a graceful exit strategy. Jensen was more than competent; he could finish the operation on his own. But Jim wasn’t going to expect any of his agents to take on a risk he wouldn’t. And he was, secretly, absurdly, warmed at the thought that Jensen cared enough to make the offer. And that Jensen trusted him enough to poke a little fun at him. (That alone sometimes seemed the real victory they’d pulled out of London.)

He covered his tangled feelings with a glare that had no real force behind it. “One more word and I’ll use you for target practice.”

Jensen raised his hands in mock-surrender. “Truce.” He made a little gesture with one index finger that took in the entire room, such as it was. “No bugs, and no one close enough to hear us.” He gave Jim a hopeful look. “I could sneak out of here, find a couple good places to put the taps…”

Jim was tempted, but shook his head. “You’ve got no spare biocells, no weapons, and no idea when she’s going to come back; it’s not worth the risk.”

Jensen sighed. “Right.” There was a pitcher of ice water and a couple glasses on a small table; he poured himself a glass and took a considering sip. After a moment, he nodded to himself and poured a second glass, which he offered to Jim. At Jim’s raised eyebrow, he said, “Thought it might be spiked. If it was, I’ve got the Sentinel, so…”

Jim accepted it, bemused. He hadn’t considered that the drinks might be spiked (one more reason why someone else needed to be running OrgCrime—he didn’t have the experience for it). Jensen had clearly thought of it, though, and the thought that followed was one that Jim very carefully set aside and put in a mental pocket for later review.

It wasn’t a large room; most of the space was taken up by the small table, a chair, and a couch. Otherwise, it was cheap industrial construction—cheaper than usual, Jim reflected, as the lights flickered intermittently, and the walls resonated under inadequate soundproofing. At least it didn’t stink—instead of the expected industrial pong, the air smelled of something that Jim, no expert in scents, classified as ‘pleasantly non-offensive’.

Neither man was a stranger to waiting for an op to go off, and Jim had become familiar with the other agent’s usual self-contained calm. At first, it had been just one more contrast against the nervous energy of the other men; now, it was simply _Jensen_. So when Jensen started to fidget, Jim _noticed_.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know—maybe.” Jensen’s eyes were bright, despite the dim, flickering light. His gaze darted around the room, and Jim could see the rings in his augmented irises spin, turning his eyes to gold as he—Jim assumed—shifted into enhanced vision. He watched, fascinated, as the thin rings spun the other direction and Jensen’s eyes returned to their usual vivid green. “Can’t tell. Just—got a weird feeling.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, then tossed down the rest of his water and put the glass down on the table not _quite_ hard enough to crack it. “Probably just nerves.”

Jim could hear the lie in his voice, even without Jensen’s almost guilty look at him. There was something in his face—but Jim lost the thought when Jensen started to pace. Restlessness showered off of Jensen like sparks; the room, already small, seemed much smaller. (It was astonishing how much _presence_ Jensen had when he wasn’t trying to make himself seem non-threatening. Or maybe Jim was just more than usually aware of him right now.) He moved like a man who wanted to burst out of his own skin. His eyes had an almost febrile gleam to them, and as he paced, his gaze kept landing on Jim in quick, hungry little glances—Jim suddenly realized what Adam was trying to hide.

Jim shot to his feet, reaching out to check Adam’s glass—had there been something in there after all? Adam’s hand darted out to catch his wrist in a grip at once unyielding and delicate. “It’s not,” he sighed, “the drink.” He added, as if an afterthought, “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You want to clue me in?” Adam hadn’t let go of his wrist. His thumb brushed feathery circles across the back of Jim’s hand, and Jim thought he was doing a reasonably good job of sounding normal despite the pleasant little shivers it was sending up his spine. Now that he was paying attention (because of course he’d been trying to ignore it), the signs of arousal were plain in the flush across Adam’s cheeks and the heat glittering in his eyes. (Jim was shaken by an irrational, savage disappointment that _he_ hadn’t been the one to put them there.)

Adam steadfastly refused to look at him. “Ran into something similar a few months ago. Originally designed as entertainment. It’s a transmission, uses subliminals, infrasound, co-opts the social enhancer, if they have one. ” Adam’s breathing was a little ragged, and he still held onto Jim’s wrist as if it were a lifeline. Jim had no idea how he was managing to sound so calm. “Alters people’s sense of reality to create a—communal experience, they called it. Everyone I saw affected had neural augs; dunno how it’ll affect someone without ‘em.” _Someone like you,_ he didn’t say.

Jim took a deep breath and did a quick self-assessment—while it would be easy to blame his current state on the mysterious signal, he didn’t think it would be true. He’d been aware of Adam’s good looks from the moment he joined the task force, but it had been in London’s aftermath that his hindbrain had put “gorgeous” together with “good man”, yanked hard on his hormones, and started yelling _That one!_ He’d been sitting on these desires for a long time. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for them breaking out now. “I don’t think it’s affecting me,” he said, cautiously. “Or if it is, it’s not strong.” He paused a moment, then asked the question that had to be asked. “...you?”

The sound Adam made was somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “It’s...rough.” Which, translated from Adam-ese, meant “about three steps from completely fucking losing it.”

Jim looked at him in horror. “Christ, Adam. We have to get you out of here.” There was no way in hell that Jim was going to subject Adam to _that_.

“ _No_.” Adam turned on him ferociously. “You’re not going to blow the mission just to protect me.” Adam’s hand drifted lightly up Jim’s arm to caress his cheek, gentle counterpoint to the intensity of his words. Jim couldn’t help but lean into it, feeling the textured surface of Adam’s hand catch lightly—and not unpleasantly—on the five o’clock shadow he could never get rid of. Adam let out a soft sigh and swayed forward, catching himself a bare few centimeters from Jim’s lips. “Once”—his voice cracked—”once I’m out of range of the transmitters, I’ll be fine.”

It was an effort of will for Jim not to close the distance, capture Adam’s lips with his own. “London,” he whispered, his voice gone almost as raspy as Adam’s. “You did the same thing.”

“No,” Adam’s disagreement was just as immediate, if not as vehement as before. His eyes closed briefly, and Jim knew the shudder that went through his body wasn’t one of pleasure. “I got the job done. There was no reason to let you die.” He opened his eyes, staring at Jim with a desperate hunger. “Plenty of reasons not to.”

“Adam—” Jim lost track of what he was about to say when Adam curved a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Even without the coat, Adam smelled faintly of old leather and evergreen, crisp and uncompromisingly masculine. The press of Adam’s body was a line of heat from shoulder to thigh, and the feel of Adam’s erection against him ran a shiver up his spine. Jim felt his own cock harden in response, and the choked little moan that Adam made when he felt it went straight from cock to spine to brain. “ _Fuck_.”

Adam’s breath was hot against Jim’s neck; his voice was low and husky and terrifyingly intimate. “Easier this way...” It sounded like an apology, incongruous against the feel of his hand under Jim’s jacket, teasing at the waistband of his trousers and tracing little patterns on the small of his back. ”Give it a little of what it wants.” His forehead dropped to Jim’s shoulder, voice a little muffled. “Lets me keep some of myself.” It definitely sounded like an apology, but for what? For doing his best to resist the compulsions, for _not_ overwhelming Jim with raw power or pheromonal persuasion and taking what he so desperately needed? The thought was absurd. (And, _fuck_ , the idea of Adam pinning him to the wall or the bed, and working his way with mouth and hands down Jim’s helpless body—if he’d been hard before, he positively _ached_ now.)

He laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder in reassurance, feeling the line where skin met polymer beneath the thin cashmere of the jumper. (That Adam was wearing _cashmere_ was...not surprising, if he thought about it. He was beginning to think that Adam was a closet sensualist.) Adam sighed and shifted under Jim’s touch in an obvious invitation for more, and he couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hand down Adam’s spine, letting the soft fabric carry the caress. Adam inhaled sharply—he pressed his forehead more firmly against Jim’s shoulder, then with an incredible effort of will, he pulled back from Jim, just far enough for their eyes to meet. “Jim,” he whispered, and maybe his biomechanical arms couldn’t tremble, but his voice damned well could, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you try not to look at me.”

Jim felt himself flush. Bad enough that he’d let himself entertain those fantasies, but to be caught out—with an effort, he tore his eyes away from Adam’s. ”It’s not professional,” he muttered.

Adam snorted, a thread of amusement snaking through the lust. “Professional is what gets the job done. Besides,” another shudder rippled through him, “I don’t mind.” Jim’s eyes snapped back to Adam in shock, sure he’d misheard. Adam’s smile was strained but genuine. With the eye-shields retracted, it seemed somehow softer, warmer. “Right now, I need you to help me get through this.”

Jim had never known Adam to ask for help before. “Tell me how.” He was prepared to step back, step _out_ , drag Adam protesting out of the building (though he had no idea how he’d manage that last)—

“What the ‘casting director’ said. Take her up on her invitation.” There was no hint of snark, no dry irony in Adam’s voice; he was entirely serious.

Jim sputtered. “You want me to—?!”

Adam’s smile widened into that insufferable cocky smirk. (Jim had spent several months wanting to smack it off his face, and a considerably shorter but more annoying period of wanting to _kiss_ it off his face.) “Come on, Jim,” he challenged, “You gonna tell me that you’re going to just stand there and watch someone else fuck me?”

Jim’s thoughts slithered into a twelve-car pile-up.

_Fucking hell._

Because, of course, Adam wasn’t _wrong_. The idea of watching someone— _anyone_ —else with Adam sent a cold slither of jealousy through his guts. God help him, he wanted to be the one to make Adam’s control shatter; wanted to bring him, wanton and vulnerable, over the precipice; wanted to see what he looked like in the hazy aftermath of pleasure.

_Fucking hell_.

He couldn’t even tell himself that this was just the job, that this was about protecting his agent, because it would be a lie. This was about his long-suppressed desires, and a man he thought he’d never have. And this was about Adam, fighting to hold onto part of himself only to turn and offer it to Jim like a gift.

_Fucking hell_.

There was only one way Jim could respond, and he did: snaked a hand behind Adam’s head to pull him close and kiss him hard enough to wipe the smirk off his face. He wasn’t gentle—he was possessive, almost brutal, crushing Adam’s lips to his with all the force of his pent-up desire. Adam’s hand on his back flattened against him in surprise, then pulled Jim closer to him with a grip that hovered on the edge between pleasure and pain. Jim bucked his hips against Adam and swallowed Adam’s gasp as he ground their cocks together. Adam was already tugging at Jim’s jacket when an amused voice spoke behind them.

“Well, gentlemen, I think we’re ready for you…?”

Jim tried to extricate himself from Adam with as much dignity as possible, trying to buy himself a few moments to get his head back in the game—and, hopefully, let Adam do the same. He decided that that the man he was pretending to be would have no shame, and so when he finally turned to face Andrea, it was with the closest approximation of Adam’s cocky-bastard smirk he could muster plastered across his face. He jerked his thumb toward the augmented agent. “Don’t suppose you can bottle whatever that was, can you? I’ve been trying to get him into this position for _months_.”

Andrea smiled politely. “I’m afraid not; it’s a proprietary system. We’ve found that it’s very effective in helping get the best performance out of our, mmm, ‘enhanced’ talent.” She gave both men a brief, appraising look. He didn’t dare turn to check on Adam, but his breathing seemed to be steadying down. “It seems he’s focused quite positively on you; that’s a good sign. Am I to understand that you’re taking us up on the invitation?”

Jim added a little sleaze to his smile. “Now that I’ve got him where I want him? Try to stop me.” There was enough truth in it that it should ring true; at least, it brought an answering smile to her face. She nodded, and turned to lead the way to whatever “set” these people had dreamed up. As she turned to lead the two of them out of the room, he risked a quick look at Adam. He seemed a little less strained—maybe they’d dialed down the intensity of their “system” for the moment. Or maybe not; Adam followed him just a little too closely, the heat of his augs warm against his back.

Andrea continued her chatter as she led them through the warren of offices. Jim tuned most of it out; it was primarily blather about how the unreliability of augs, the need to control them, how they were nevertheless useful in their own limited fashion. Jim smiled and nodded at all the appropriate places, and thought how the man at his back was practically the embodiment of loyalty, and loathed her more with every word.

Jim spotted a bundle of network cables attached to a wall ahead. He deliberately stumbled on an uneven patch of carpet; he’d intended to ‘fall’ against the wall, but hadn’t counted on Adam’s heightened reflexes. Adam caught him effortlessly; before Jim could react, Adam had him pinned against the wall, right about where Jim had planned to end up. Adam flashed him a brief smile, then brought his mouth down on Jim’s in a kiss that was every bit as devouring and possessive as the one Jim had given him. One of Jim’s hands tangled itself in Adam’s hair; the other—the one hidden behind Adam’s powerful body—snapped the network tap he’d palmed when he ‘stumbled’ into place.

Andrea cleared her throat, a little impatiently. Slowly, Adam turned his head to look at her, gave her a look that made her flush, then, insolently, returned his attention—and his lips—to Jim. Jim was a little light-headed from adrenaline and desire when Adam finally pulled away with a final long, lazy look that promised _much_ more to come.

When they started walking again, Andrea observed, “Your man there seems to be a little insubordinate, doesn’t he?”

“You have _no_ idea,” Jim groaned. He hadn’t meant to be quite that honest, but… there it was. Calling Adam a ‘little’ insubordinate was like calling the Alps ‘hills’.

“Oh,” she all but purred, “then I have _just_ the scenario for you…”

**ΔX**

Jim was never going to be able to look at Jensen across his office desk again.

They hadn’t been given a script, exactly, just a laminated sheet with a couple paragraphs that laid out their roles and some ‘possible interactions’. Jim, obviously, had been cast as the ‘grizzled, by-the-book police captain,’ which left Adam as the ‘headstrong, rebellious detective’ who had been summoned to the captain’s office for... discipline. Some of the suggested ‘interactions’ were enough to make Jim flush, and he was hardly a blushing cadet.

Adam had made that snort of laughter again, and Jim supposed he could hardly be blamed for it. The situation had gone straight from ridiculous to completely, utterly bug-fuck. It didn’t help that Adam had more-or-less plastered himself to Jim’s side, and when no one was looking (and sometimes when they _were_ ), he’d been doing some very... _pleasant_ things to Jim. About the third time it happened, he noticed that Adam seemed to get particularly handsy whenever he was feeling particularly nervy.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he’d murmured.

Adam had made a noncommittal little noise. “I _did_ tell you it helps me focus...” His voice had sounded far too reasonable, given that his hands were tracing hot little curlicues up Jim’s spine. He’d chuckled, low and dark, and mouthed gently at Jim’s earlobe. “But I figured you could use a little distraction. Didn’t think you’d mind...” Damn him and his clever mouth, it really _was_ a good distraction. (Not that he was going to admit it.)

Ultimately, they ended up in an utterly familiar situation: Jim behind the desk, Adam on the other side, looking recalcitrant. The room was otherwise empty, but Jim knew the video pickups on the walls were sending every bit of image and sound to a server somewhere.

A voice crackled over the intercom. “Disciplinary Action, take one!”

Jim pretended not to look up for a moment. He idly tapped at the keyboard, just for show, and was surprised when the monitor woke up. Jim was abruptly filled with elation. The network connection had to be under the desk, and all he had to do was to get Adam to place the second tap, and then the two of them could get the fuck out of here, mission accomplished. (So why did a part of him feel so disappointed?)

He raised his gaze; the mission receded into utter unimportance, compared to the sight of Adam standing there. God, he looked even better now—eyes hot and dark with need, lips a little swollen—Jim couldn’t help but be arrogantly pleased at seeing Adam still bearing the imprint of Jim’s lips on his—hair a little disheveled and body taut with wanting, and every scrap of his attention on Jim. “Walther,” he drawled, trying to keep his own voice from shaking with desire, “do you know why I called you in here?”

Adam glared back, but Jim could see the ironic glint of amusement in his eyes. “I got the job done,” he growled.

Jim walked out from behind the desk. “It wasn’t the job you were told to do,” Jim said, in an almost gentle voice. Adam looked a little taken off-guard—this wasn’t part of their usual interactions. Well, that was the _point_ , Jim was trying to get off the dangerous ground of their actual professional relationship and into the much safer realm of fiction. He circled around behind Adam as he continued. “The mayor wants your head, and I”—Jim pressed himself to Adam’s back, his half-hard cock against Adam’s tight arse, felt Adam’s quick breath and full-body shiver as he whispered, right in his ear—”have to find a good reason not to give it to him.” He turned his face into Adam’s neck and nipped at his earlobe. Lips barely moving, too quietly for the audio pickups, he added, “Network’s live.”

Adam turned his head, beard brushing softly against Jim’s cheek. “I see it,” he said, equally quietly. “Follow your lead.” He abruptly stepped away from Jim, the very picture of a subordinate uncomfortable with his superior’s advances. Putting on a show. “The mayor can kiss my ass.” His eyes followed Jim as Jim finished the circuit to face him. “He wouldn’t have a problem if he kept his hands clean.”

Jim sighed, theatrically. “Well, the problem for _us_ is that he...pays...our...salaries.” Jim emphasized each of the last four words with a light tap on Adam’s chest, enjoying the way Adam’s breath caught a little with each touch. “So I can’t have someone in my precinct that doesn’t...follow...orders.” Again, those light taps, that turned into a gentle caress. There was just something about the way Adam trembled under his touch that made him want to touch more.

“I follow orders,” Adam said, sounding a little breathless. “Just not the stupid ones.”

Jim was hard-pressed to choke down his laugh at that—god, didn’t he just _know_ it? He had to look down for a moment so the cameras didn’t catch it, and somehow managed to convert the motion into a disappointed headshake. “You,” he tapped one finger lightly on Adam’s chin, relishing the feel of his soft beard, “don’t get to make that decision.” Jim brought two fingers up to Adam’s mouth, forestalling whatever smart comment he was about to make. “Quiet—I’m still talking. So...” his fingers traced the outline of Adam’s lips, then pressed their way into his mouth, “...why don’t you just occupy your mouth with these while I tell you how this is going to go?” Adam’s teeth closed on Jim’s fingers for a fraction of a second, almost painfully—the thought came unbidden to Jim’s mind, _don’t tease the tiger_ —and then he made a muffled little noise in the back of his throat as his tongue started to tease Jim’s fingertips.

“Mmmm, that’s good.” Jim’s voice was a little breathless when he continued. “It’s very simple. You are not going to walk out of here until you demonstrate that you can follow orders to my full and _complete_ satisfaction.” Jim’s head rocked back on his spine as Adam’s mouth clamped down on his fingers. Apparently, Adam approved of the notion. _Strongly_. This time, he let himself chuckle. (Maybe he was having a little too much fun with this, but for all the absurdity of the situation, they were still undercover, and had to sell the act, and he certainly wasn’t just trying to justify it.)

With a little bit of difficulty, Jim withdrew his fingers from Adam’s mouth, running them gently over his own lips, savoring the taste. Adam stared at him from beneath a stray lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead, eyes wild and lips glistening from Jim’s touch. He knew that if he just said the word, Adam would be all over him, a force of desire as inexorable as the tide. Instead, he stepped back (body already protesting), leaned against the desk, and said, “Strip.” This time, he didn’t try to hide the look he gave Adam, starting at his ankles, traveling up those long, lean legs to where Adam’s jeans strained against his hard-on, over the soft jumper that covered those taut abs and broad shoulders, and back to his face. “Slowly. Give me a show.”

Jim held his breath for Adam’s reaction; if he saw even a scrap of reluctance… but Adam didn’t hesitate. Deliberately, he toed off his shoes and kicked them gently to the side. Of course he didn’t wear socks—it wasn’t like augmented feet could chafe—and Jim’s breath came a little quicker as he thought what _else_ Adam might not be wearing. Adam’s smile flashed through his beard, almost as if he’d read Jim’s thoughts, and something inside Jim warmed at the sight.

The jeans were next. Adam’s fingers glinted as he undid the buttons, one by one. Slowly, as Jim had ordered. Equally slowly, he slid them down, revealing a long expanse of gleaming black. Jim couldn’t help but appreciate the perfect fusion of power and elegance that was so exquisitely ‘Adam’. Jim’s gaze followed the line of his legs back up, and his mouth went dry at his first glimpse of Adam’s cock.

Adam’s hands toyed with the hem of his jumper, and he shot Jim a look that was somewhere between vulnerable and defiant. _Are you ready for this?_ Jim gave Adam a slow nod, moistened dry lips and said, “More.” His voice cracked, and it came out more as a plea than a command. “I want to see all of you.” Adam drew the soft wool up and over his head, then stood, almost defiant, jumper trailing from one hand. His skin was pale against the black of his augs, his hair mussed and falling from its usual spikes, irises just a thin rim of gold around pupils blown wide with desire.

“Bloody gorgeous, you are,” Jim rasped. “C’mere.” He’d barely reached out to draw Adam close before he was already _there_ , mouth closed hungrily on his. Adam’s fingers worked with uncanny speed at the buttons to Jim’s shirt as Jim ran his hands over Adam’s sides, traced lightly up his spine, teased gently at the boundaries where flesh and metal became one. Adam tore loose from the kiss, head arching back in pleasure at the touch of Jim’s hands on his bare skin. Jim nuzzled right under Adam’s ear, earning a soft, sharp intake of breath, then drew his mouth down Adam’s neck. Adam groaned, grinding himself desperately against Jim. His hands didn’t stop at the end of Jim’s shirt; they’d undone his belt and were working on his trousers.

Adam sank to his knees with almost inhuman grace, pulling Jim’s trousers down with him. His hands were everywhere—on Jim’s arse, running down the outside of his legs, and then trailing up to caress the inside of his thighs. “Fuck,” he breathed, “Adam, that’s—” His words were cut short by a gasp as Adam’s beard brushed against his aching cock. Adam’s beard was followed by Adam’s mouth, and oh god the sensation ran right up Jim’s spine and wrung a low moan from his throat. The sight would be branded in his memory for a long time: Adam on his knees, lips wrapped around Jim’s cock, and somehow it was still the eyes that drew him in, wide and dark and bright-rimmed with the sort of burning look that he’d never thought to receive again in his life. He lost sight of “should” and “shouldn’t”, lost himself then in the play of Adam’s lips and tongue, the eager little noises he drew from Adam’s throat with every touch of skin, the words that fell without thought, soft and breathless, half praise and half profanity. When Adam brought him, shuddering and gasping, to an orgasm fierce enough to white out his vision, it was an inevitability.

Jim squirmed, drawing Adam back up against him. He ran his hands up and down Adam’s sides, relishing the way Adam responded to his touch. Adam had to be half-mad with desire by now—and wasn’t it just like him to give, and give, and dammit, he needed to let someone take care of him for once. Jim tried to say as much, but Adam swallowed the words with another relentless kiss, hands sliding restlessly up Jim’s chest...then, with a twist, neatly trapping Jim’s arms behind him in a tangle of shirt and jacket. “You didn’t think I was _done_ with you…” Adam whispered, a teasing note in his voice. “‘Full and complete satisfaction,’ I think you said.”

The realization dawned on Jim: he had never been the one in control here. Or, at least, not since he’d allowed himself to admit just how deep his feelings ran. All his attempts to bring them under control were just a stubborn refusal to accept the inevitable. The thought filled him with a giddy sort of exhilaration, and why not? He hadn’t felt this _alive_ in years, was already growing hard again, and he wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, or the knowledge that they were being watched, or the novelty of being at someone else’s mercy. Maybe it was just that Adam had seen right through to his deepest desires, the ones that only came out in filthy dreams at lonely o’clock at night, and seemed hell-bent on fulfilling them. Through a mouth gone dry, he said, “Looks like you just needed the right motivation.”

Adam yanked down on the fabric entangling Jim’s arms, pinning him against the desk, then gave him a long look from eyes gone almost feral with need. He hesitated a moment, biting his lip, and then a flash of gold accompanied the sound of rending fabric, and he tossed aside the shredded remains of Jim’s vest; the sheer careless power of it made Jim’s breath catch in his throat. He arched up to capture Adam’s lips in a desperate kiss, breathing in Adam’s low, throaty chuckle. A soft moan tore from Jim’s throat when Adam broke free to map his way down Jim’s body with lips and hands, and oh, _fuck_ , it was even better than he’d imagined. He needed to touch, needed to taste, needed needed needed, and all he could do was writhe, gasping, under Adam’s deliberate caresses, his barely-coherent pleas falling in counterpoint to Adam’s rough-velvet _do you like this_. Adam’s hand drifted lower, giving Jim’s cock a couple of long, slow strokes before trailing back to cup his balls, then delicately tracing around his hole. “Would you like that?” Adam’s voice was ragged, his breath coming hard and fast.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jim panted. He wanted to arch into Adam’s touch, but even that much was denied him, Adam pinning his hips to the desk with casual ease. “Adam, _please_...”

A slick fingertip slipped inside Jim. “This?” Adam’s eyes were fixed on his, hungrily.

Jim’s breath stuttered in his chest. “Ahhhh...yes!”

God, how long had it been since anyone had done that with him? He couldn’t remember, and it didn’t matter anyway, not with Adam’s fingers making him ready with that slick, steady pressure. With his free hand, Adam drew lines of heat up Jim’s skin wherever he could reach, while he traced the lines of Jim’s stomach with his tongue. Jim writhed again, and this time he could feel fabric give beneath him, and he was able to wrench one of his arms free from the soft bonds Adam had made of his clothes.

Adam looked up, startled, when Jim ran his hand over Adam’s hair. Jim took the opportunity to brush his fingertips along one of the shield ports and savored the soft little sound Adam made in response. Adam didn’t seem inclined to stop him, so Jim continued exploring the lines of Adam’s face, running a thumb over one cheekbone, smoothing a hand along his beard, then down the—Adam shivered and inhaled sharply—definitely _very sensitive_ contours of his neck, tracing the outlines of the dark cord that ran from neck to shoulder.

“Jim—” Adam’s voice was a bare rasp, aching and needy. Jim took advantage of Adam’s momentary distraction to sit up (he didn’t maintain an exercise regimen for _nothing_ , after all), relishing the way he shifted against Adam’s fingers, and Jim tangled his own fingers into Adam’s sweat-dampened hair while he pulled his other arm free.

“In. Now.” His own voice was dark and rough, a match for Adam’s, and he emphasized his words with a little pull on Adam’s hair. Adam huffed a quiet laugh; he’d found a condom (probably from the same hidden drawer where he’d found the lube) and started to roll it onto his cock when Jim batted his hand away to do it himself. He swallowed Adam’s moan as he smoothed it down the length of Adam’s erection, savored the way it made his hips buck and body shudder.

Adam pushed Jim back down against the desk again, strong and gentle, and Jim only had a moment to feel bereft when he felt Adam positioning his cock where his fingers had just been. “Thought you were done giving orders,” he growled, smoothly pressing himself inside Jim on the last word, and Jim couldn’t stop a rough cry of pleasure as he did.

Jim locked his legs around Adam’s hips as Adam started up a slow and steady rhythm. He dragged Adam’s head down for another savage kiss. “Just... one... more,” he husked, words coming in time with Adam’s thrusts, feeling them drag along his own cock where it was trapped between them. He nipped at Adam’s ear, under his jaw. Ran his hands along every centimeter of Adam he could reach, fingertips dipping into the Typhoon ports (Adam sighed) and circling a nipple (Adam groaned) and down his spine (Adam shivered). Adam was all over him with hands and mouth, and fuck the things he could do with his _beard_... Jim was riding the edge of a second orgasm when the words fell from his mouth. “Want to… see you…” His voice was a harsh whisper. “Come for me, Adam.” Watched as his words shredded the last thread of Adam’s control.

Adam’s thrusts became harder, less rhythmic, and then he hit _just the right spot_ and Jim lost his goddamned mind, and it was all hands and tongues and fingernails and teeth, it was _pleaseplease_ and _fuck, yes_ and _ohgodyoufeelsogood_ , and Adam was his whole fucking world, around him, _in_ him, all hot leather and evergreen and machine oil and cigarette smoke. He felt it with his entire body when Adam came, the shudder trembling, racing up his spine, tearing a half-growl, half-scream from his throat, and that was what sent Jim over, hips bucking, heart pounding, his own shout tangling with Adam’s.

They lay there, spent, Adam’s face buried in the crook of Jim’s shoulder, just breathing, holding off the world for a few precious moments.

Jim knew when the transmitter was turned off. It was obvious, watching Adam close himself off—the refusal to look anyone in the eye, the stiff, overly-controlled body language, the short, barely-communicative responses to direct questions. It reminded him of when Adam had first joined the task force; he hadn’t missed it. The easy camaraderie with which they’d started the mission was gone as if it had never been.

Jim went through the motions of signing paperwork, making empty promises to return with his ‘assistant’ (Adam appeared not to notice the attention being sent his way, but the tension in his shoulders said otherwise), and generally extricating them without raising suspicion. Andrea insisted on pressing a thumb drive into his hand, “a souvenir, with our compliments”, and Jim was pretty sure he knew what it contained. He shoved it deep into a pocket as they stepped outside.

They were outside the metro station where they had met this morning and a lifetime ago when Jim finally spoke. “Don’t bother going back into the office today,” he said. Adam gave him a brief sidelong look, and Jim flushed—trust Adam to notice that he was walking a little stiffly. “I can coordinate with Chang just as easily from my apartment.” Adam nodded, and the furrow between his eyebrows eased a little. They parted like that, Jim wondering if it had all been worth it.

**ΔX**

Jim knocked on the door to Adam’s apartment. The sun was long below the horizon; Jim had gotten Chang on the line as soon as he’d gotten home, and Chang had, in his own words, “cracked their system like ShadowChild did Palisade.” (Jim had raised his eyebrows but said nothing.) The first thing he’d done was make sure Chang made the past 24 hours of footage from both the security and studio archives _disappear_ , and Chang—perhaps he’d heard something in Jim’s voice, but he hadn’t said anything beyond a quiet acknowledgment. But the data was now pouring in, and best of all, Chang had apparently been able to make the disappearing footage look like an internal accident.

Jim should have been pleased. Instead, he was standing at the door to Adam’s apartment, bottle of very expensive scotch in one hand, and that thumb drive burning a hole in his pocket. (He hadn’t looked. Hadn’t needed to. It was burned into his memory.) Adam opened the door, eyebrow rising in surprise. Jim spoke, quickly, forcing the words out before all his uncertainties could strangle them in his throat. “I was—we need to talk,” he said.

Adam let out an explosive little sigh and nodded. “Yeah.” He stood aside in silent invitation, eyes dark and wary in the low illumination. A few moments later, the two were settled at opposite ends of Adam’s couch, each with a tumbler of scotch. Jim brooded for a few moments and tried not to think about how his fingers still itched to feel Adam’s skin under the jumper, or how green it made his eyes look.

Jim sipped his scotch, tried to let the burn distract him from the things he didn’t need to be thinking, and broke the silence. “I owe you an apology,” he said.

Adam stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You—owe _me_ —?”

Another sip. “I should have been honest with you before we went in there,” Jim admitted. “I took you into that situation knowing that I had”— _inappropriate_ —”strong feelings for you, and—you never should have been put in that position.”

Adam’s reply was sardonic as usual. “I already knew. Besides,” he took a sip from his own drink, “weren’t exactly a lot of other options. Not that I could trust.” He turned his gaze to his tumbler and drank again, and his next words were only barely audible. “Not like you.”

Jim hid the fact that he was at a loss for words behind another drink. He wasn’t sure if it was Adam’s comment or the alcohol that was undoing the cold knot that had settled behind his heart; either way, he was grateful for it. Finally, he said, “I didn’t even consider other options. Which...maybe you’re right, and there weren’t any, or maybe my decision was biased. Doesn’t matter. The point is, whether or not you already knew, you deserved to hear it _from me_.”

Adam turned his own tumbler around and around in his hands, amber and gold against the darkness. “Point taken.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it half-mussed in a way that made Jim desperately want to finish the job—either smooth it back down or leave it a soft, rumpled mess. (If Jim had entertained the slightest hope that this afternoon had cured him of his attraction to Adam, it hadn’t survived walking through the door.) But Adam wasn’t finished. “And I understand where you were coming from. Still don’t think you need to apologize for it, but—it’s okay.” _Apology accepted_ , in other words. Jim barely had time to breathe in relief before Adam added, “Since you brought it up, I owe _you_ an apology.”

Now it was _Jim’s_ turn to stare at Adam in shock. “Wait—what?”

Adam continued as if Jim hadn’t spoken. “I knew how much you wanted me, and I used that against you, because I wanted—” he broke off, suddenly, drained his glass, then fumbled for the bottle and splashed in a generous three fingers.

Jim wanted to protest that Adam didn’t owe him an apology, but—Adam was hunched in his seat, elbows planted on splayed knees, tension in every line of his body, and stubbornly refusing to look at anything beyond his drink. Whatever it was that was eating Adam, Jim would give him the space to get it out. He refilled his own glass—only a finger, he knew all about Adam’s robo-liver, and was old enough not to feel the need to match the younger man drink for drink—and said, quietly, “I’m listening.”

Adam was halfway through the glass before he spoke again. “It’s a good thing we’re taking them down. If not...think I’d have to burn the place out.” At Jim’s shocked breath, Adam turned his head and finally— _finally!_ —met Jim’s gaze. Adam’s eyes were those of a man who’d been offered Paradise, only to have it torn away. One side of his mouth curved in a humorless, razored smile. “Offered me what I most wanted. It was _easy_ —standing right there in front of me.” Adam slugged back the rest of his drink and put the glass on the table a little too hard. “Just had to give the rest of myself away.”

Jim had to feel his way around that. “You mean—me…?”

This time, Adam’s fingers practically tore through his hair. “If you’d ever _looked_ , you’d have seen me looking back.” The words were a little bitter, but mostly Jim heard a desperate sort of relief, a long-unspoken truth finally out there where it could be dealt with, instead of just carrying it in silence because—

_Christ_ , Jim was an idiot.

He abandoned his empty glass on the table. Feeling unaccountably bold (was it the scotch or just...Adam? He wasn’t sure and didn’t care), Jim slid over to press himself against Adam’s side, enjoying the feel of Adam’s taut warmth along his arm and thigh. “You didn’t force me into anything, Adam,” Jim said quietly, laying a hand on Adam’s forearm. “I said yes. I’m still saying yes.” He hesitated, then added, “if that’s what you want.” They could still walk away from this, if they had to. Somehow.

There was a blur, and Adam was suddenly kneeling across Jim. He brought his hands to Jim’s face in a steel-soft, feather-strong grasp. Adam brought his lips to Jim’s like an offering; for all the certainty in his hands, his kiss was purely _yes_ and _please_ and _i want this_ , and walking away was no longer an option.

Jim had learned that there were some things in this life that you just couldn’t fight. Dust storms. Typhoons. And apparently, this—whatever-it-was—with Adam. You didn’t fight. You ran, if you could (and he’d tried), you hid, if you had to (and he’d tried that, too), but when it came right down to it, sometimes all you could do was endure. But as he surrendered to the sensation, as his world narrowed to Adam’s eyes and Adam’s lips and Adam’s hands, he knew that _this_ was something he was going to _embrace_.

**Author's Note:**

> Mid-credits scene:  
> Jim growled. "We still need to work on you following orders."  
> Adam's hands were all over Jim. "Yeah,' he made that soft little laugh, "that's something I have a problem with." His eyes gleamed pure mischief. "Looks like I'm going to need practice. A lot of it."


End file.
